


A Coward's Lament

by DessArtem



Series: Broken Pieces [4]
Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Mild Gore, post-THAT SCENE, tiny blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DessArtem/pseuds/DessArtem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had no choice, he told himself. Lord Business held his strings in a death grip.</p><p>(standalone ficlet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Coward's Lament

“EVERYTHING IS AWESOME!”

Bad’s arm shot sideways to slam his fist down onto the alarm clock, effectively smashing it into silence. He stared wide-eyed at the familiar ceiling of their living quarters, breath coming in haggard gasps. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“ _Oh, son!_ ”

He threw himself up and out of the bed, ripping at his hair. His sheets tangled around his legs, however, and he tumbled to the floor before he could catch himself.

“ _No more mister nice guy!_ ”

He cringed and curled into a ball on his side. Half of his face screamed in pain along with the memory playing in his head. He writhed, legs kicking and torso jerking, until the sound of a loud chiming managed to burrow into his consciousness. Their cell phone. Late. Late for work. In trouble. He sat up, needing to lean back against the side of the bed for support, and made to grab the phone. He jumped when he accidentally hit the “Play message” button on the touch pad and the message began to play.

“Heya, Bad Cop! This is Lord Business. I just wanted to leave this message here for when you wake up, so that you’ll know exactly what I expect you to do today.” Lord Business’s tone had that edged friendliness that caused Bad Cop’s spine to crawl, since it always meant he was winding up for something nasty. “First of all, don’t forget to change those bandages! I wouldn’t want you getting an infection, especially since you’ve already wasted so much time being unconscious! Now, once you’ve finished that and had a good breakfast, go on down to the Old West and get to work hunting the Special! I’m sure you won’t disappoint me again, especially now that your weak side has been permanently eradicated from your brain! Have a great day!”

With an all too cheerful beep, the message ended. Against his better judgement, Bad raised his hand to his face and lightly rested it against the bandages. The pain that erupted on contact shot straight through his head, as if someone had taken a large drill through his eye and into his skull. He pulled his hand away and tried to shove down the pain enough to focus. Good hadn’t said anything yet, and Bad wasn’t able to sense him, not even the subtlest hint of his presence.

“Are you there? Please wake up.” He knew at once that the connection between their minds was gone. It was like he was shouting into the Abyss. “Please!” Frantic, he tried switching in, shifting his consciousness back and into his mindspace to leave room for the other, but the pain was so intense he screamed hoarsely and clutched at his hair again. Taking deep breaths through his nose, he forced himself to calm down and think as he stared once more at the ceiling, having slipped down to the floor again. 

He had no choice but to follow orders, just as he’d had no choice but to hit that button and watch his parents get Kragled before he’d passed out. Chest heaving, he pushed himself onto his feet and took a moment to steady himself before walking carefully to the bathroom, stumbling multiple times before using the wall for support. Dizzy. He flicked on the light and blinked rapidly to adjust to it. Strip, shower, teeth, shave. Efficient, orderly. He could manage that, he thought, before his resolve slipped. Instead of getting to it, he stood in the doorway, staring as if he’d never seen a bathroom before. Good used to do this stuff. Bad hated getting up, but he liked watching his twin go through their morning routine. Good would spend these precious minutes before work making silly faces at him in the mirror, singing for him, talking to him as if they’d never even heard of Octan and its CEO. He always grumbled along, assuming Good knew he actually enjoyed their routine, but what if he hadn’t known? Bad never told him he loved him often enough. He should have known better than to take Good for granted.

On the counter next to the sink he found a white bag with supplies for cleaning the wound and rebandaging it. Hand shaking, he barely managed to cut through the tie of the old bandages without nicking himself. He quickly unwrapped them from around his head, but cringed so hard he almost hit his chest on the sink when some of the skin was pulled away with the last bit of gauze. Growling, he forced himself to straighten up and look at what he’d become.

A few layers of his eyelid had been burned away, but he was able to blink with it still. His eyesight was blurrier than normal, but he could still see with that eye. As for the rest, rough streaks of his flesh had been burned by the chemical from his hairline to his jaw, but the wound was clean and didn’t appear infected. There was no blood save for some residual streaks on the left side of his face and below his jaw, but the wound was oozing a clear fluid. All-in-all, he was pretty intact, which surprised him after the intensity of the pain. It was almost grounding, in a way, knowing he could hide the bandages with his helmet and sunglasses and go out and pretend everything was fine. His parents were gone. His brother was dead. He was too much of a coward to join them. Bad had made his choices and saved his own skin, when it came down to the past eight years under Lord Business, coming to a head here. He had to live with that, had no choice. Business had his strings in a death grip.

Fifteen minutes later, Bad was rebandaged, showered, and dressed. A dull, hollow numbness carried him through the motions. He grabbed his phone and found his blaster sitting next to it, another item put back in the wrong place. He stuffed the one-of-a-kind blaster into its holster and stuffed his helmet onto his head. He paused for a long moment before retracting his hand from over the flip-up glasses and instead dug into a drawer to find an older pair of regular aviators, from before he’d told Business about their duality. They weren’t a perfect match for his prescription anymore, but they would have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> (I cannot tell you how much I love that phone message.)


End file.
